The scanner beeped twice before turning green.

You stood silently beside Park Chan-woo as the metal doors hissed open, revealing the long, dim hallway to the Frontman's private quarters. The two of you stepped inside together - shoulder to shoulder - your footsteps echoing in unison. You weren't supposed to be here. No one was, except him.

Without his mask, Chan-woo looked impossibly more human. And yet, as the doors sealed behind you, it became clear how inhuman this place was. The cold metal walls seemed to absorb sound, creating an atmosphere of oppressive silence that weighed on your shoulders like physical pressure.

He didn't say anything at first. Neither did you. You crossed the threshold of the office slowly, the air cooler than expected. Chan-woo paused just before the desk, glancing over his shoulder at the scanner built into the wall that would have sounded an alarm at your presence without his authorization.

"If I hadn't come with you," he muttered, "the alarm would've gone off before you made it three steps." A pause. "You really like pushing lines."

"I knew you'd come," you said quietly.

His lip twitched - half of a scoff, half of something else. Something unreadable in the dim light.

"You're the only one I'd come here with."

The words sat heavy between you, and yet neither of you looked away. The silence that followed wasn't awkward - it was familiar. Weighted. Like you'd both been here before, just not in this room with its implications of ultimate trust and vulnerability.